


An Invitation From the King

by mea_laetitia



Category: Dream Team - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Dream's POV, First Kiss, IDK WHAT TO SAY JUST READ IT ITS SHORT LMAO, King!George, M/M, Sword Fighting, Tension, knight!dream, knight!sapnap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-18 16:16:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28869906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mea_laetitia/pseuds/mea_laetitia
Summary: Dream is a knight, George is a king, need I explain more?[oneshot]
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 112





	An Invitation From the King

**Author's Note:**

> beware i have no clue what im talking about culture-wise, this could be completely historically inaccurate lmao, also this is just writing practise! it's not going to be very good, don't expect it to be poetic and beautiful hehe

Sweat trickles off Dream’s forehead. The sun is beating down relentlessly on the two knights, making not only the duel but the feat of moving so quickly in the heavy armour all the more difficult. Dream has long since stopped looking at the stands, at the crowds of people who sit under shade, with their fans and cool clothing. It’s too hard to see when he himself feels like he’s about to burn up. 

In front of him, Sapnap also appears to be struggling under the heat. For a moment, the two knights stand panting, staring at each other as if waiting for the other to muster the strength to continue the battle. But Dream knows Sapnap, they’ve trained together for years, and if he’s learnt anything about the man it’s that he won’t be the first one to attack. Defense is his best strategy. Defend and then attack quickly after when the opponent is distracted with their sword knocked back and their shield not up. 

It would be a brilliant tactic — if Dream wasn’t counting on it. 

He lunges forward, aiming for the legs and, as expected, finds it blocked by Sapnap’s shield. But instead of pulling his sword back he follows it, moving forward and forcing Sapnap to stumble backwards so as to not be headbutted by Dream. And in that split second that Sapnap stumbles, Dream attacks again, twisting his sword towards Sapnap’s and with a simple twist of his wrist, flicks his opponent’s sword into the air like it was made of paper. 

The crowd bursts into cheers. Dream has won, he disarmed his opponent and won not only glory, but, as he glances at the King’s box in the stands and sees a small smile just for him, he won something else too... something worth a whole lot more.

He is thankful for the visor he still wears, that hides the new wave of heat that flushes across his face at the sight. 

Sapnap grasps his hand and gets to his feet, pulling his own off. “Luck Dream, nothing but luck.”

Dream snorts. “If you say so.”

\---

It’s been a few hours since the duel and Dream is polishing his blade just outside the castle grounds, looking over the green fields it sits atop of. It’s almost sunset, the sky is clear and he can see stars beginning to appear with the growing darkness. It’s nights like these that Dream is the most at peace. No Sapnap annoying him, no one to impress, no stupid rules to follow, jobs to do, wars to fight, just him and his sword and his thoughts and…

King George?

Dream stumbles to his feet at the sound of footsteps making their way towards him, turning around to see none other than the King wandering over to him, crown perched lazily on his head like he shoved it on as an afterthought. 

Any other knight would bow to the King, but Dream just puts down his sword and meanders over to him, not yet meeting his eye. 

They stand side-by-side, staring at the sun falling behind a lush green hill that almost glows as the final dredges of light illuminate it and only it. For a moment neither speaks. Their encounters always begin this way, as if neither can really believe that they’re being so informal or what they’re about to do. It’s not unheard of for the King to be chummy with his knights — but a friendship certainly is. 

Not that this is a friendship really...Dream doesn’t know what it is frankly. 

The silence passes as it always does, broken by the King. 

“Nice job today.” He grins, still staring out at the hills. 

Dream allows himself a small smirk. “Wasn’t that hard…”

“So modest.” 

“Thank you.”

Dream steals a side-glance at George and sees him already staring. 

Both immediately look away at being caught. 

It would be such a strange site if they were found. The King and his best knight standing so close together, yet unable to look each other in the eye. Being so casual, and not abiding by the assumed etiquette that goes along with being in the presence of royalty. Not only that but all Dream is wearing is his regular shirt and pants, not his uniform. And George is no better, in a similar garb, though worth noticeably more. 

George seems to snap out of the timidness first. He straightens suddenly and faces Dream fully. “Well, I didn’t come down here just to talk. I have a proposition.”

Dream raises an eyebrow, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. There it is again, that familiar heating up of his face. But he doesn’t have his visor to hide it this time; he prays the fading light doesn’t betray him. 

“What’s that?” 

“I haven’t had a good duel with someone in quite some time. Usually I do it with Bad but... you know what happened there…” He trails off and Dream grimaces at the implication. Yes, what happened to Bad was...well...bad. None of the knights like to dwell on that day. 

George shakes his head and continues. “Well, after seeing your impressive skills today,” he exaggerates the ‘impressive’, and Dream rolls his eyes. “I feel rather inclined to pick it up again...what do you say?”

Dream blinks. “What?”

“Do you want to duel me Dream?” George asks with a smirk. “I promise I’ll go easy on you.”

Dream scoffs. “Pretty confident for someone who hasn’t trained in months.”

George rolls his eyes and steps closer to Dream, speaking slowly. “That won’t be an issue.” 

It’s not just a duel then: it’s a challenge, of sorts. Dream has to admit: there’s nothing he’d rather do than show off in front of George, because he knows there’s no way he’d lose (unless he was asked to lose on purpose by the General, who seems so often to think it would save the King’s dignity). 

“Challenge accepted.” Dream says in a low voice, pulling himself up to his full height, his two inches on the King more noticeable. It does not, however, succeed in intimidating George as he had hoped. 

George stares at him evenly. “Now. Let’s do it now, where no one can see us.”

Outwardly it might sound like he simply wanted the privacy but Dream knows what that really means. He knows where George perhaps sees this going, how he wants it to end, maybe. Or maybe that’s just Dream projecting his own wishes on him. Either way, this was not just going to be a battle, both of them knew that.

Dream takes another step closer to George, and tilts his head down to whisper, only for George. “Are you sure that’s wise?”

George meets his eyes confidently, and Dream can’t help but wonder how he can do that when they’re standing so close together now they’re practically chest to chest, and Dream’s own heart is attempting to beat right out of it the longer he stares at the King. 

“I think I can handle myself.”

With that he saunters off to the shiny sword and shield he had clearly dumped on the pathway on his way there. Dream picks up his own weapons and readies them quickly, by habit, watching as George prepares himself as well. 

Then they’re standing facing one another, the air heavy, swords poised to begin. 

“To the death?” Dream jokes. 

“Not tonight, I’ll let you live just this once.” 

George grins, and then bows his head at Dream as he does the same and then almost immediately his sword is out and against Dream’s. 

The King fights agile, Dream notes, far more agile than Sapnap ever has. And without the heavy armour they usually wear, it’s much less restricting a duel. It’s more of a dance. Quick jabs here and there, always aimed so if it did hit it’s mark it wouldn’t be fatal. Silver glinting in the orange light that dips slowly under the hill, and the metal of the sword handle cool beneath their fingers. 

Dream was not an idiot; this was not just a duel, and it wasn’t entirely a challenge. George began to allow himself to be driven backward, inching further and further towards a crumbling castle wall. He was letting Dream overpower him, he wanted to be beat, just once. This wasn’t a duel: it was an invitation. 

At least, Dream prayed it was, because if it wasn’t there was no way to explain what he did next. With a wink, he flicked his sword around the tip of George’s, pulling it sharply so it flew out of the King’s hands and clattered on the stone floor behind them. George stood, astounded, for a split second before Dream advanced on him, and George stumbled backward with wide eyes, his back hitting the wall softly. Dream slowly angles his sword so the tip rests just barely against the king’s throat, not there to harm him, only to make it known the battle is over. 

“I win.” Dream says softly, for they’re both close enough now they can hear each other’s breaths. 

He lowers the blade, chucking it to the side absently, not caring that he’ll have to polish it again later. His eyes do not leave George’s. The air has changed drastically. They do not move from their position; George almost pinned to the wall by Dream, but making no move to squirm away. The final dredges of sunlight wash over George’s face just as it slips over the horizon, illuminating the light sprinkling of freckles on his nose, lighting up his dark brown eyes that reveal a longing that pours out of them. Dream feels it too; a fleeting glance at the King’s lips, the subsequent ache in his heart. 

This is so wrong. He thinks, but he can’t bring himself to care. 

When George grabs his shirt and pulls him closer, their noses now brushing, breathing each other’s air, Dream doesn’t stop it. When Dream looks at him, looking for a sign to continue, a ‘yes’, permission to break the rules, George doesn’t stop it — he gives the permission, in the way he tightens his grip on Dream’s shirt, the tiny nod that follows just in case he didn’t get the memo. 

And then, after a moment of taking this in, both thinking Is this really happening? Dream tilts his head down, and their lips brush against each other, tentatively, testing the waters, waiting for the other to leap back and realize this is wrong. But it doesn’t happen. And the kiss deepens, and it’s so overwhelming, and George’s lips feel so soft against Dream’s, and Dream’s lips fit so perfectly against George’s, and it’s like the whole world has been holding its breath and can finally breathe. 

And when they finally pull away, the light long-gone from the sky, replaced by the stars that seem to shine brighter than any other night, their eyes gleam and they can’t seem to remove the smiles from their faces. 

This must have been against so many rules. Dream thinks in the back of his mind, but, watching as George lets out a huff of a laugh at the ridiculousness and touches his lips absentmindedly, he doesn’t give a damn. 

“I win.” He whispers again, the phrase having an entirely different meaning now.


End file.
